Happy Birthday Sammy Winchester
by Floofeymarshmallow
Summary: A collection of birthdays from none other than Sam Winchester!
1. 1997

The sound of vomiting filled the motel occupied by the Winchesters in the spring of 1997. The youngest Winchester, Sammy, was ill with a stomach flu that had begun showing itself at 12:01 AM. Sam was miserable, his father, John, was annoyed that his youngest was missing his hunting practice, and his brother, Dean, was busy taking care of him. Dean sighed as he left Sam alone in the bathroom to get him something to drink.

"He any better?" John asked just as the sound of vomiting occurred once more.

"Does that answer your question?" Dean poured flat ginger ale into a plastic cup to take to Sam.

"Don't get smart with me, boy, I'm just askin'." John retorted. He sighed, wanting to help with Sammy some way, but he just couldn't. For a couple of years now, Sam and John had spread apart from how they used to be. Sammy used to idolize his father and pay every minute of attention to him. Though, when Sam had begun to shift his idolization onto Dean, John just stopped becoming as important in his life. Somewhere along the line, John turned into his drill Sargent, which didn't help the situation either.

Dean brought the cup to Sam, who was hunched over the toilet wearing onto a pair of boxers and one of Dean's t-shirts. Dean never minded Sam wearing his clothes, even when he was sick like this.

"Here, I got you something to drink." Dean said, moving to hand it to the kid. Sam could only shake his head repeatedly.

"Don't want it. Gonna throw up." Sam said, trying desperately to keep the vomit inside of his body.

"Come on, kid, you're not gonna. I promise you, you'll be fine. Please drink it." Dean pleaded to his little brother. Sam continued to refuse for a minute. Knowing his brother wasn't going to drink the soda without a little push, Dean gently put the drink up to Sam's lips and began pouring it in. Even though Sam's lips were shut tight, some of the drink managed to get inside of his mouth. Dean pulled the cup away before any soda could get on the floor. After having a taste, Sam eagerly took the cup from Dean the second time it was offered and began to drink it.

"There ya go," Dean smirked. Sam laid against Dean's chest after finishing the drink. The middle Winchester took his hand and placed it on the youngest's forehead. "You got yourself a fever, kiddo."

John walked from where he sat to the bathroom doorway to watch his kids. He chuckled softly before whispering to himself, "Happy fourteenth birthday, Sammy."

* * *

**Happy birthday, Sammy! Sucks you're sick ;P I'm out of school for the summer as of yesterday! Aaaaand, I'm taking summer school to graduate early. Thanks for reading!**


	2. 1983

**May 2****nd****, 1983**

"Just one more push!" a doctor cried out while the blonde in the hospital bed screamed and gripped her husband's hand tightly. The pain had been nearly unbearable for Mary Winchester during the birth of her first son, and scheduled the epidural as soon as she found out about her pregnancy.

John had laughed. He said she was weak. Mary smirked; she knew she wasn't. Growing up in her family's hunter household, she had grown to know injuries. She had experienced knife wounds and was no stranger to pain. But she could get rid of this pain in a healthy way, and she sure as hell would. She was no different than the other mothers in the maternity ward.

With that one push, Mary brought a second son into the world. Another Winchester.

Great.

The nurses were quick to clean up their new babe – Mary was a patient at this same hospital when she delivered Dean, and when they didn't return him in the allotted time, they felt the wrath of the female Winchester. John thought it was funny, saying she was a true Winchester. He hoped none of his boys inherited her anger.

He also hoped they did.

"What are we naming him again?" John asked.

"Samuel," Mary said, stroking the soft head that already looked to be sprouting dark hair. Yep, this boy was going to take after his father, not have the golden hair Dean currently had – though both John and Mary were sure it would darken with age. "After my father. What do you think?"

"It's perfect," John said, reaching and stroking the boy's small head with his wife. "_He's _perfect. Thank you, Mary."

"Hey, you're getting the midnight diaper changes," Mary brought up.

"And you're covering six AM feedings," John joked. Of course Mary would – she was a breast feeder. She had fed Dean until he was a year old and was adamant about doing the same with this one.

"I think I can handle that." Mary kissed her babe's soft hair. "Welcome to the world, Sammy. Buckle up."

The boy then let out a long cry.

* * *

Sam was peaceful when being brought home. He really just napped in the backseat of the car, occasionally awaking to see his mother was sitting beside him in the backseat. She refused to leave his side.

When the car doors opened, Sam was startled as John lifted the infant carrier out of the car. Mary didn't have to do the work – she was still recovering from the delivery that wasn't kind on her body.

When Mary gave birth to Dean, it was tough on her body because she was so young and was a small girl. Now that she was a bit older – only by about four years – the birth was slightly easier, but still didn't do her justice. She was in pain and would be in bed for the next few days. She would take advantage of John catering to her while she could.

"Mommy!" Dean's loud voice called when John and Mary first walked through the door. John's mother had been staying and watching Dean while they were in the hospital, and she stood from the couch to walk over and see her newest grandchild. John was her only child and the only one she could have after his father had left, so she wanted to get as many grandchildren as she could. Luckily, John and Mary were planning for a large family as they had both been only children.

"Hey, Dean," Mary greeted, kneeling as best she could to greet her little boy. Dean definitely took after his mother with golden hair – that would darken with age – emerald green eyes, and freckles. Mary secretly hoped that Sam took after John – like she knew he would – so that the man could have the boy to be like him. Though, Dean was such a daddy's boy, Sam could never replace him.

"Is that my new brother?" Dean asked, pointing at the baby carrier John was holding. The eldest Winchester placed the carrier on the ground so that the four-year old could see better.

"Yep," John answered for his wife. He gave her a kiss on the temple and patted her back as a silent way of asking her to sit on the couch. She needed the rest, and did as he had instructed. Part of her liked it when he took control like that and part of her hated it. "Dean, this is Sammy. Remember, he's little, so you need to be a little quieter around him and more careful."

"Okay," Dean said, sitting down beside the carrier and getting a good look at the sleeping babe. "Hi, Sammy," Dean whispered loudly. It was hardly a whisper at all, but the kid was trying. "I'm your big brother."

John smirked. "You'll be a good big brother, Dean." John unbuckled the straps to the carrier and walked Sam over to lay in Mary's arms. Just before the infant hit his mother's arms, Dean asked, "Can I hold him?"

Mary was quick to answer – she was hoping for the question. "Of course you can, baby. Sit next to mommy and daddy will put Sammy in your arms."

Dean scrambled onto the couch beside his mother and held his arms out the way Mary had shown him with a baby doll before the birth. John placed Sam in his brother's arms. As soon as he did, Sammy decided to awaken and formally introduce himself to his big brother.

Those hazel eyes looked just like John's. Mary smiled.

"Whoa, mommy, he's lookin' at me!" Dean exclaimed. Sammy's face then contorted into a wrinkled cry as he spit up on his onesie and all over his brother.

"Happy birthday, Sammy," Mary said with a laugh as Dean looked up at her with a horrified expression.

* * *

**Yeah, so I decided to continue this. Also, you may have noticed my name change. Cool, right? **


	3. 1984

May 2nd, 1984

John was having a rough time of it. It was his son's first birthday, and he couldn't even find it in his heart to celebrate it without Mary. She should have been there. She should have been baking a cake and taking pictures; inviting all their friends over. Instead, she had been turned into a pile of ash no more than six months ago.

Dean was trying to celebrate for Sam, but he still wasn't talking. He was using his few toy cars to entertain his brother, and kept looking at his father as if expecting something to happen for Sam, but nothing was happening.

'Sam won't remember anyway', John reasoned. They didn't need to have a birthday party for a kid that wouldn't remember. John couldn't afford it, they didn't have any friends to invite while they were kicking it in a motel, and there just wasn't room for cheeriness in this dull room.

"Dad?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use. John snapped over in his son's direction. Dean hadn't spoken in six month. Not since his mother had been murdered. He finally said something.

"What is it, son?" John asked, on his toes waiting for what his son needed to ask so desperately that he would break his prolonged silence.

"Is Sammy getting a birthday?"

John's heart hurt. While he knew Sam wouldn't remember having a birthday, he should have realized Dean would remember. He was old enough to remember that his brother didn't get his birthday, which was the most important day of the year for a kid.

"I'll be right back, okay, Ace?" Dean nodded before John left the room and locked the door behind him. He had the only key, so no one would get in there. Besides, the salt lines in front of the door and all windows were still intact.

John returned not fifteen minutes later and sat in front of his baby boy. Sweet Sammy, who's hair was coming in much darker and curlier than Dean's ever was. John could tell Sam definitely took after him, while Dean was much more like his mother.

Mary...

"Happy birthday, Sammy," John said as he held up a zebra cake from the first convenient store he could find in the area. He opened the packaging up and placed the cake in his son's hand. Of course, Sam found more interest in destroying the little cake than eating it, and was making a proper one-year old mess all over himself and his onesie. "Happy birthday."


End file.
